Thengel straightened from where he’d been hunched over his desk. He’d been agonizing over the sheet of parchment for hours, and even now he wasn’t completely satisfied with what he’d written. His confusion mounted every time he re-read the latest letter he’d received from Gondor.

Ecthelion was a tactful, wise man, but he was always very straight-forward in their correspondence. Or, at least he had been. Over the last year or so, he’d noticed a change. Subtle, at first, but a couple months ago he’d really began to notice a difference. Some of his letters seemed to be written in a much cooler tone of voice than before. A few lines were so formal and cold, Thengel was almost led to think he’d offended him in some way without realizing it. But then the next letter would sound more normal again, and his fears would begin to fade, until they were reawakened by another foreign-sounding line in another letter.

The cycle continued thus, with Thengel hardly knowing how to respond at times. This most recent message was proving to be the most puzzling of all, not because of the usual problem, but because this time it rang so true. He could almost hear Ecthelion saying the words. While immensely relieved on one hand, on the other he was more bewildered than ever.

Half the letter was veiled questions—questions he’d thought about putting to Ecthelion many times. Had he done something offensive? Was everything alright with his family, and with his home? Ecthelion obviously thought he was somehow under pressure, or possibly angry with him. And all this time Thengel had been wondering the very same thing about Ecthelion. He couldn’t understand it. How could they be miscommunicating so badly?

With a heavy sigh, he dipped his quill into the inkbottle, and signed his name to his own missive, full of earnest replies, and a few questions of his own.

***

“Is something troubling you, my Lord?”

Thengel was about to shake his head, but stopped himself. Perhaps Thorongil might have some fresh insight. It was worth a try. “Yes, as a matter of fact, something has been bothering me.”

Thorongil strode attentively at his side, and clasped his hands behind his back. Save for some lingering soreness from his side wound, he had been pronounced fully healed by Naylor, after several weeks of being bed-ridden. The process had been mutually miserable for both patient and healer, and all were glad the captain was back on his feet.

Although still frustrated in his attempts to determine the man responsible for Thorongil’s brutal “questioning,” saying Thengel was relieved to have Thorongil by his side again would have been an understatement. For one thing, it seemed a hopeful precursor to normalcy. Not that he could think of things being normal yet, not with the words of Ecthelion’s last letter still fresh in his mind. He hadn’t sent his response yet, and felt in need of a second opinion before he did so.

“I’ve been thinking about our relations with Gondor.”

“Rohan’s relations with Gondor, my Lord?” Thorongil queried, with obvious surprise. “We are allies, and have been so for centuries. Surely there is no reason to worry about there being some problem.”

“I hope not.”

“Then…there is some reason in particular that you do worry about it?”

“Yes. There is something in particular, though it may not threaten any real hostilities between our countries, for it is of a more personal nature. I speak specifically about my friendship with the Steward.”

Thorongil’s surprise went up another notch. “But I thought you and Lord Ecthelion were on the best of terms.”’

“We are. And, although our separate duties to our kingdoms often keep us from seeing each other often, we have corresponded ever since I left Gondor. We are friends, and have been so for a long time, that is why his behavior worries me so much. I thought I knew him, but lately in his letters, he sounds like a different man. I almost feel as if I’ve somehow made him angry with me, though how I cannot think… However, I just received his most recent letter, and it is confusing in a different way. In it, he asked me what is wrong, as if I were the one acting strangely.”

Thorongil absorbed the information with interest, and concern.

“For a long time I thought I might be imagining it all, but not anymore. The more I think about it, the more I feel the need to see him face-to-face. There’s only so much one can tell from a piece of paper—I feel blind.” Thengel clutched the piece of parchment in his had agitatedly.

“Perhaps you should go see him face-to-face,” Thorongil stated quietly.

“Do you think I dare?”

“Dare? With all due respect, Sire, I don’t think you dare not to. Something feels wrong about all this, but even if it’s only a small misunderstanding it would be better have it cleared up now, rather than turn into something worse later on.”

Thengel tried not to sound too eager. The prospect of actually seeing Ecthelion, even under the somewhat strained circumstances, was exciting. But could he really afford to leave just now? He’d only been home a couple of weeks, after all.

Thorongil saw the struggle on Thengel’s face, as it brightened, and then became troubled with indecision. “You would, of course, have some time yet. A messenger could be sent to Ecthelion, and arrangements would need to be made… Perhaps some agreement could be made to meet half-way between Edoras and Minas Tirith.”

Thengel felt his hope mount again. It just might work. Seeing Ecthelion again, and being able to put any questions directly to him… He gave a firm nod. “Yes. I will send a messenger.” Already, he mind began to work on the details, and he continued voicing his thoughts aloud. “It’ll need to be a trustworthy messenger indeed. Someone with tact, and enough diplomacy to discuss this with Ecthelion…”

“Anborn?” Thorongil suggested.

“No, I do not think I should send him yet. Eru knows he’s had enough practice with diplomacy, and is patient to fault. But I fear Lord Mannalic has kept him busy most of the year thus far, and I’d feel guilty asking him for more so soon.”

“Silfren?”

“Silfren would be perfect—were he ten years younger.” Thengel smiled. “I don’t think he would appreciate another journey just yet. At the end of a long trip on horseback, he was hardly in a mood for polite discussion.”

“What about Captain Heolstor?” Thorongil hesitated to say it, considering his own biased feelings towards the other captain. However, Heolstor was a good soldier, and a logical option as a messenger in every way. Other than his own suspicions, that was. But everything was chaos right now, with no one certain of who they could trust anymore. Thengel himself looked in need of some time to recover. Thengel had made the difficult and burdensome decision to have Eothald put in the dungeon for time being, first of all for his own safety, considering all the people lined up eagerly to voluntarily execute him, and secondly because he wasn’t sure what else to do with him. It was all pending further investigation right now. Unfortunately, Eothald was the chief witness, suspected conspirator, and criminal all wrapped up into one—and he wasn’t proving to be cooperative.

Thengel was silent for a moment. “I do not know… He is a fine soldier, but how he would do as an ambassador, I cannot say.”

“I would be able to undergo the journey, my Lord.”

Thorongil make the offer sound so matter of fact that for a full ten seconds Thengel seriously considered the proposal. When the words finally penetrated, he looked up sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous, Captain. I’m not sending you.”

“Then… I don’t meet the requirements?”

“Now you are being ridiculous. I couldn’t think of anyone more suited then you for this job, you meet all the requirements. All, except in one small matter.”

“Which is?”

“Just the minor problem of you being in absolutely no condition to go anywhere. Gods, Thorongil, you’re only just recovering!”

“With all due respect, Sire, I’ve already been pronounced fully recovered…”

“With all due respect, Captain, you are still not undertaking this mission. Naylor would never permit it.”

“Naylor,” Thorongil groaned. “That is just it, my Lord. If I do not get away from him and Feorh soon I swear by all the Valar I shall go utterly raving mad. She seems to have taken it upon herself to act as a spy for him. They won’t let me leave Meduseld, much less mount my horse—if you do not pity me, then pity my horse. Seron can have a nasty temper, and if he doesn’t get some exercise soon—”

“Enough, enough... I hear you, Captain, and I do pity you, and Seron. It would seem that both of us have rather desperate needs, and as you have solved mine, I suppose it is only fair I grant you yours. But, I have one condition.”

Thorongil visibly flinched. Those simple, trivial, little “conditions” got you every time. But the sentence that Thengel passed wasn’t as bad as he’d dreaded it would be.

“Lieutenant Araedhelm will come with you.”

“I’m sure he will be as glad as I to get some fresh air.” Thorongil nodded his thanks.

Thengel watched Thorongil bow, and then stride off down the hall, his step light and full of exuberance. He couldn’t help but smile. Thorongil’s mind was clearly already ten steps ahead, planning the trip. He felt a little apprehensive over his decision. After all, Thorongil had an uncanny ability to get into catastrophic situations. However, he had to consider other things, like Thorongil’s unconquerable desire to be doing things, and going places.

This unassuming wanderer from the North had entered his services unceremoniously, but with a surprising air of purposefulness, as if he’d woken up one morning and simply decided that today he would become a soldier of Rohan. But might he not just as unceremoniously resort back to his nomadic existence, and fade back into the wilds, becoming a wanderer again? Every time that glint of restlessness appeared in Thorongil’s eyes, Thengel found himself relenting to nearly any request to give him something to do, in the hope it might satisfy his cravings for a while. Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time, but he would keep that eventually at bay as long as it was possible.

***

Araedhelm yawned, and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. Thorongil, on the other hand, sat tall in his saddle, the very image of vivacity and energy.

“Captain, would you mind answering a question?”

“Not at all.”

“Why in the name of all the gods did we have to get up at this hour?”

Thorongil chuckled. “You’re getting too soft, Lieutenant. Whatever happened to your sense of adventure?”

“Adventure doesn’t happen at this time in the morning: everyone’s still sleeping.”

“Ah, well, so much the better. I suppose we can’t run into much trouble then, either. And it’s a beautiful day to be traveling.”

Araedhelm stared at him blearily, as if he’d just told him he was going to marry a dwarf maiden. “There’s nothing to be quite that cheerful about…. And how do you know it’s going to be beautiful day? It’s still dark out.”

Thorongil threw head back and laughed. “Dark out? Open your eyes, Lieutenant, while you’ve been dozing the sun’s come up, and it is turning out be a very beautiful day.”

Araedhelm’s only response was an unenthused grunt.

As the day progressed Araedhelm did begin to wake up, although it was halfway through the morning before he was fully functional. They stopped for their mid-day meal, and with food in his stomach again he almost felt as cheerful as his captain looked. Thorongil had eaten sparingly, hardly even checking to make sure he was putting food into his mouth, instead using the break to focusing on map he’d spread out before him.

Araedhelm squatted down beside him. “Where are we?”

Thorongil tapped his finger on the map to indicate their position. “Approximately here. If we rode until after dusk we could actually make it close to the Firien woods…”

“But—”

Thorongil halted Araedhelm’s words of disapproval, correcting himself. “But Thengel-King ordered me, specifically, not to push too hard, so we will be stopping before supper.”

Araedhelm nodded his approval. “That’s better.”

They did stop before the darkness set in. However, Thorongil insisted on riding hard, with few breaks, right up until the sun began to disappear behind the treetops, and Araedhelm’s scowl forced him to halt.

The next morning, Thorongil allowed his lieutenant an extra hour’s sleep, and thus Araedhelm arose feeling and acting a bit more human than the day before. They continued down the Great West Road and, to Thorongil’s satisfaction, crossed from the Eastfold into Anórien before noon. At lunch, their horses drank their fill of fresh water from the Mering Stream, and they refilled their flasks.

As they remounted, Araedhelm discreetly watched his captain, wary for any signs that his recklessness might be catching up with his only recently recovered health. He was glad to be proven wrong in his suspicions, for Thorongil mounted his horse as smoothly as he’d descended, showing no signs of fatigue or stiffness. More than that, he was in a more stubbornly cheerful mood than Araedhelm had seen him in for many weeks. Right now, if the sly smirk on his face was any indication, his captain’s cheerfulness was leaning more towards mischievousness than mere happiness. The glint in those very alert silver eyes instantly put him on guard.

“We’ve made some good ground already,” Araedhelm commented.

“Aye, we have.”

“Then, we could afford to go a little more slowly.”

“The King only said not to ‘tire’ ourselves—I’m not tired, are you?”

The barb was only a small insult to his manliness, and Araedhelm was determined not to be goaded on or, worse, to encourage him. “No, I am not tired.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind a small race?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, but—”

“Then you will race me?”

“No!”

Thorongil slowly raised an eyebrow, and this time the challenge could not be ignored.

“What kind of a race do you have in mind?”

Thorongil grinned. “I’ve figured out a shortcut.”

Araedhelm guffawed. “A shortcut to where? This road is the shortcut.”

“Just through the Firien Woods. I’ll be on the other side of them in half the time it’ll take you on the road.”

“Oh really?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Thorongil flashed him another grin, and, before Araedhelm could even regret having risen to the challenge, he’d spurred his horse off the road. With a sigh of resignation, Araedhelm urged his own mount down the road. The horse’s hooves pounded deafeningly on the path.

He might have cried out when the heavy weight rammed into him, knocking him from his horse. As it was, when he collided with ground the wind was completely knocked out of him, leaving him dazed. While his brain groped for oxygen, desperately trying to make his lungs work again, his vision blacked out. He gasped reflexively, and color and sight re-entered his world. Next, pain crashed over him, and realized his body had fallen in an awkward position, with his left arm twisted beneath him. He’d broken enough limbs to recognize the feeling. Groaning, he began to push himself upwards with his good arm. Cold metal pressed to his throat and a gruff voice stopped him.

“That’s it, hold still unless you want your throat slit.”

Without moving his head, Araedhelm watched his captor out of the corner of his eyes. His very ugly, dirty, and hugely-smiling captor, as it turned out. “What do you want?”

“Guess.”

Wonderful: let’s play guessing games while trying not to pass out. Just what I had in mind. The coolness of the sword against his throat was enough to remind him to keep his sarcastic thoughts to himself. He shifted as much as he dared, supporting as much of us weight as he could with his knees in order to give his aching right arm a break.

“I told you to hold still.”

Araedhelm obeyed.

“Enough, Hodosh. Let him to his feet.”

Araedhelm rose gratefully, cradling his broken arm to his chest. He was confronted with a new, and more daunting sight. Apparently, he had more than one captor. A tall, brown-haired man with a taut face and commanding presence strode from the forest, and behind him came eight more men.

“Gadog, get over there and help Hodosh. Take his sword, search him for other weapons, and then bring him off the road. Gardeg, get his horse.” The brown-haired man ordered his companions, and, amazingly, all four of the rough-looking men obeyed without complaint, albeit with a few resentful glances.

Flanked on either side by Gadog and Hodosh, Araedhelm had little choice but to obey and be led off the road into the woods. They marched after the brown-haired man until he came to a halt.

“This is far enough.” The leader handed Hodosh a length of rope. “Tie him to that tree.”

His orders were once again obeyed. The brown-haired man drew closer, until they were face-to-face. Although he had no clue what was going on, who these men were, or what they wanted with him, Araedhelm met his scrutiny unflinchingly.

“My men haven’t found it on you, so I assume it’s with your mount?”

Araedhelm stared in open confusion. “What?”

“Don’t play the fool. You’re rumored to be a man of high intelligence. Do the intelligent thing, and just tell me where it is.” The man wasn’t threatening, he simply stated things with a weary air. “I don’t have time to give you a second chance. Tell me now, or I’ll have to use all the means in my power to convince you otherwise. Where is the letter?”

“What letter?”

“Tell me now, Captain Thorongil, and it will spare us both pain.”

Araedhelm couldn’t speak for surprise. So that was it, they actually though he was Thorongil? And as for a letter… He hadn’t been given specifics, but he knew Thorongil was traveling to Minas Tirith with a message for Ecthelion, verbal or otherwise he didn’t know. Whatever the contents of the message, he saw now that it must have been important. Important enough for them to kill the bearer: Thorongil. Giddy relief swept over him as he realized how close his captain had come to being captured. If he hadn’t agreed to the race, then at this very instant both of them would have been captured. A sharp blow against his face caused him to reawake to the possibility of his own impending demise.

“The moment you tell me, I will tell my men to stop. If you don’t tell me, you’ll leave me no choice but to continue, until you’re dead if needs be. Consider carefully.”

Araedhelm didn’t reply. The back of his head whacked painfully against the tree.

“Very well. You are rumored to be a stubborn man, as well as intelligent. I had hoped you would have more sense than this. Tell me, what was the message?”

For a second time the wind was knocked from his lungs, this time by a fist. Araedhelm curled around his aching chest as much as his bonds permitted him. The seriousness of his situation began to sink in. To these men he was Thorongil—and he was determined never to tell them he wasn’t.

A well-aimed punch to his broken arm put to the test his new resolution not to make a noise. If he cried out, he would only be directing his captain to their position. Sooner or later, when he didn’t show up, he knew Thorongil would come looking for him. He feared it. He knew first-hand of his captain’s fighting skill, but ten men… The odds weren’t good.

A dagger entered his field of vision, its tip held dangerously close to his eye.

“Go on, straw-head, tell us.” A rough voice taunted, sounding very much as if its owner hoped he wouldn’t.